Unseen

Chapter 14

Violet flicked off the TV. Bugs Bunny couldn't make her laugh today, and she didn't know why. And all the movies she tried were as boring as they were confusing. Just flickering images passing in front of her face. Meaningless.

The nagging whisper of dissatisfaction wasn't a whisper anymore. And now it was threaded through with anxiety. A couple of hours ago, she could have sworn she heard a gunshot. Then a big commotion—hurrying feet and raised voices. She had listened at the top of the stairs, but hadn't been able to make it out any words.

Then the commotion had quieted, with Violet no more enlightened than before.

She kept telling herself it was nothing. If it was important, Yvette would have come to get her. Yvette would have needed her. She hadn't, so there was nothing to worry about.

But Violet knew what a gunshot sounded like. She had trained with guns. Not as frequently as with up-close weapons—there wasn't much point in having an operative who would turn invisible if she was just going to stand back and shoot. But she'd had the training, because she needed to know how to use all the tools available to her.

And she knew what a gunshot sounded like from a distance. She knew the sound that came after someone got taken away for recycling—too many red marks, too many worried whispers about instability. That sound meant she wouldn't see them in training for the rest of the day, or the next day, or ever again.

Maybe Yvette hadn't come for her because Yvette was dead.

Footsteps on the stairs. Violet went invisible. She eased herself off the couch as quietly as she could and crept toward the stairs.

Who was coming for her? She didn't know. She needed to know.

If Yvette was gone, Violet had to take care of herself now. And that began with knowing what she was dealing with.

She chastised herself for not having an improvised weapon with her at the ready at all times. She never should have let herself get so comfortable.

But the figure walking upstairs with slow, heavy steps was Yvette. Violet let out a silent breath of relief.

The look on Yvette's face was enough to tell Violet she hadn't been wrong about what she had heard earlier, though. Something was very wrong. Yvette's lips were white, her eyes dark pools of pain. She had taken a shower recently—her hair was dripping all over her expensive shirt.

She smelled like flower soap. Underneath that, she smelled like fear. But her eyes spoke only of grief and a terrifying dark rage.

"Violet?" Yvette's voice was rough with tears. She looked side to side. "Violet, where are you?"

Violet reappeared. Yvette jerked back, her hand flying to her heart. "I don't know if I'll ever get used to that."

"What happened?" Violet asked, almost in a whisper.

"Someone tried to have me killed." Yvette's rough voice took on a flat, emotionless cadence. "Reynold is dead. My... my assistant. My father's assistant, really."

The naked hurt on her face as she said his name told Violet he had been more than that. But Violet didn't ask.

"Then you have a mission for me," said Violet. "The person responsible. Who are they?" She marveled at the eagerness in voice. It felt like a long time since she had looked forward to a mission.

But was it really the mission she was looking forward to? Leaving her comfortable couch and going out into the night? She didn't think so. She just wanted to do something to ease the bottomless hurt in Yvette's eyes.